I Dreamed A Dream: Adventures Of A Soup Woman
by LornaWinters
Summary: If you thought the soup woman's story ended with "Unification," think again! Even a soup woman has dreams that can come true. One-shot.


**NB: This story is a sequel/spinoff to "Pardek Meets His Match," one of my collaborations with Thyme2read that's posted on her account. Sometimes you have to wonder if the actors portraying these characters only knew...**

After the Pardek and Bea wedding gone horribly wrong, the soup woman decided that cooking just wasn't for her anymore. There were simply too many sad memories associated with it. She sold her soup kitchen, on a whim in most people's opinion, and went to stay for a while with her brother in the country. It should be noted that our heroes and heroines from the previous story were hardly affected by this change in the neighborhood. Since they preferred cooking themselves and having warm gatherings at each other's homes, they only ever ate out on a blue moon. And in those cases, a soup kitchen was never the first choice.

No one would have suspected this seemingly insignificant woman was also herself a heroine. Her situation, lineage, and even her own personality seemed to be against her. Indeed, she didn't suspect it herself, aside from in her dreams, which she made a point to forget upon waking. In her youth, she had fancied the Romulan ambassador Nanclus. Alas, their love was never to be, as he was discovered to have been involved in a conspiracy and executed. Or so the story went.

"I found a job for you," her brother said to her one morning.

She crossed her arms. "I don't want a job."

"You'll want this one. It's a cushy government job. Besides, it's high time you got out of my house and supported yourself again."

She rolled her eyes in response.

"It's either that," he continued, "or you'll start making yourself useful around here. Go make me some soup."

That was all it took. "Okay, I'm gone." She threw her hands up in the air and bolted toward the door.

On her way out, her brother handed her the slip of paper with the address. Half-heartedly, she followed the path back into town. To her relief, the address was no where near the Krocton Sector. It was in Rateg.

"Park Avenue?" She blinked and checked the hastily scribbled note a second time. "Well, that's more like it. Finally, I can move up in the world." When she arrived at her destination, she did another double take. "The _post office_?"

A clean and respectable-looking woman raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you the soup woman? Your brother said you were coming. Follow me," she requested before the soup woman could answer. She shrugged and complied.

The manager led her to the employee locker room. "Now that you are a professional, you must look the part." She handed her a fresh postal worker uniform. It was far better than anything the dingy masses in the Krocton Sector were wearing.

"And one more thing," the manager turned. "You are from henceforth no longer the 'soup woman.' You are the 'mail lady.' Get to work when you're finished dressing. The supervisor will tell you everything you need to know." With that, she left the mail lady to change.

She slipped the uniform on, and examined herself in the small mirror hanging on the wall. She did indeed look professional, a far cry from her greasy spoon look. A strange sensation came over her facial muscles. Then she remembered it was called a smile. She hadn't smiled since she was a child. Then she recalled from the walk over that nearly everyone in Rateg was smiling. In fact, she would be the odd ball if she continued to scowl. One last inspection, and it was off to the front desk.

To her surprise, a middle-aged human was at the desk, reading the funny papers, and chuckling to himself every so often. Since there were no customers at that moment, she supposed that was okay. He looked up once he noticed he had a visitor.

"You must be the new mail lady. I'm Stefan DeSeve."

She had never met a human before, unless one counted Captain Picard in disguise. DeSeve's hair was cut in the usual Romulan style, but it didn't seem to make him look any less human. He had sky blue eyes that were filled with juvenile enthusiasm, despite his age.

"Hey, I remember you. Didn't you operate that greasy spoon in the Krocton Sector? Man, I loved that joint. Used to eat there every day when I was in the Star Navy."

She only grunted in response.

"Say, can you make me some soup on our lunch break?"

"Ugh!" Was that the only thing men ever saw her as being good for? Making soup? "No. I don't work there anymore. I'm a mail lady now." That part of her life was over.

"Oh." His smiled faded. "Wait, why don't I whip something up for you then? I live just around the corner. We can eat and be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

Well, that was a first! The mail lady decided it would be nice if someone waited on her for a change. "I suppose I'll let you," she said, careful to keep any eagerness out of her voice.

Just then, two more humans with ponytails, walked in the door carrying a couple of large packages.

_All humans look alike,_ she thought.

They were followed by a Romulan street urchin she knew all too well. "D'Tan! What are you doing in Rateg? You don't belong here."

D'Tan shifted uncomfortably.

"He's helping us," said the first human.

Now DeSeve was curious. "With what? What mischief are you up to now? I told you I was done with the dissidents."

The second human dropped his box on the counter with a loud thud. "We're not part of the dissidents anymore." He looked around, then continued in a hushed tone. "Have you ever heard of...the Resistance?"

"The _what_?"

"Ambassador Spock is a compromiser, out to lead everyone down the slippery slopes of modernism. We're not following him anymore."

DeSeve rolled his eyes. "Where do you want to ship your packages to?" he asked, clearly not interested in pursuing the matter further.

"There had better not be a bomb in there," the mail lady piped up.

There was silence for a few moments. "This woman is a feminist," whispered the first one, "You'd better get rid of her."

Rage filled the mail lady, and she was about to show him just how feminist she could be by strangling the puny idiot. DeSeve stopped her.

"It's lunch time. Rick and Mick, let's get your stuff mailed so we can go on break."

The one called Rick pouted, but complied anyway. They were on the way out when she asked DeSeve who exactly it was they were following.

"Hmmm, difficult to say. It's always changing. My guess would have to be Procouncil M-Ret and his aides, but your guess is as good as mine anymore when it comes to them."

D'Tan, who had one foot out the door, whirled around. "M'Ret has _AIDS_?!"

The mail lady smiled deviously. She was going to have fun with this one. "Does it surprise you, young one? Everyone knows he's been around. And I have it on good authority that he had an affair with the Vulcan ambassador. The result of that liaison is now a captain in Starfleet, who passes himself off as a full Vulcan. You would do well to be careful with whom you associate."

The boy's jaw practically hit the ground. As soon as he recovered, he dashed off to inform Rick and Mick.

DeSeve let out a belly laugh. "That's a good one. Haven't heard anything that funny since I was in prison. You should write the comics. Now, let's go get some lunch."

His apartment was indeed right around the corner, just as he said. To her surprise, the place was neat and tidy—not at all what she expected. But not that she cared, since she wouldn't be the one to clean it.

"Forgive my presumption...you went to prison? What are you doing out?"

"Starfleet prison," he specified. "You know, they only hold you for a couple of years, and then you're free."

_So that's why he went postal._

He went to the small kitchen and began to get things together. "Make yourself at home. You want an ale or anything?"

She politely shook her head.

"I'm having one." He popped one open, then slapped several cans onto the counter, and opened a bag of rice. "This is called red beans and rice," he explained, "Ever had it?"

Again, she shook her head.

DeSeve chuckled. "I learned how to make it from Rick and Mick of all people, but don't hold that against it. If you ever go to New Orleans, you'll have the real thing. This is the bachelor version, though the twins won't admit to it."

"How did you ever get mixed up with those two muckrakers anyway?"

"Back when I was part of Ambassador Spock's dissident movement, they started coming to the meetings. Not long after, they got mad about who knows what, and they started peddling out their conspiracy paraphernalia. The next thing I know, they're in this 'resistance' group."

"Ah." She sat down at the table and allowed him to serve her. The food smelled good, in an alien sort of way. But she wasn't about to complain, no sir. Any meal she didn't have to cook herself was a good meal in her book. Her taste buds practically danced when she took a bite. "This is how the twins make it?"

He smiled. "Well, let's say I improved it slightly. Do you like it?"

She took another bite and nodded eagerly. A girl could get used to this.

DeSeve started on his own plate. "So," he asked when he was nearly finished, "How about I show you around when we get off work?"

Panic seized her. She had absolutely _nothing_ to wear. All she had was the uniform she was wearing, the grimy scrubs she had arrived in. "I couldn't."

"He hurt you really bad, didn't he?"

She blinked. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I tell you what," he winked, "we'll go over to the shopping center and I'll let you pick out something pretty to wear. Then we'll go to dinner at my favorite restaurant."

"I'm not interested in you."

"Who said anything about being interested in anybody?" He held his hands up defensively. "We're just co-workers catching a few drinks before we go home and crash. Besides, you just might like it."

She thought about it for a moment. Since she was the owner of the soup kitchen, she had never before had the time to go out with her co-workers. And given that her co-workers were for the most part slaves, she would never stoop to associating with them anyway. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps it would be fun.

"Alright. But I'll buy my own clothes. You can cover dinner."

He shrugged. "Fair enough."

The rest of the day went by slower than molasses in January. Not a single soul came in. The mail lady found herself nervously tapping her foot to the ticking of the clock. She was actually looking forward to this. DeSeve dosed intermittently between the pages of his comics. When it was time to clock out, however, he instantly popped out of his seat.

They went to the mall, where the mail lady was able to view the exclusive Kimara Kardassian line of fabulous clothing and jewelry. She had always seen the advertisements for it everywhere, but there weren't any stores that carried it in the Krocton Sector. Nobody there could afford those prices. Fortunately for her, she had never found anything before that made her want to spend her money, so she could afford to treat herself.

DeSeve wasn't much help in the frugal department. He insisted that she model the clothes for him, and even picked out a few evening gowns for her to try on to wear that evening. "You look great! I like that one!"

She couldn't help but listen to his flattery, and ended up buying quite a bit more than she had originally planned. But she had a white collar job now, she told herself, and therefore would need better clothes. On the way to their destination, they stopped at her place so she could change and freshen up.

When they were ready, he led her down the street, then down a dark alley. She eyed him suspiciously.

"Trust me," he said. She didn't, but assured herself that she could easily handle a puny human if he tried anything foolish.

They reached a door, upon which he knocked. A small slot in the center opened, and two beady eyes peered out at them. "What's the password?"

The mail lady gawked. "You're taking me to a speakeasy?"

"It's a very respectable speakeasy," he insisted. Turning back to the eyes, he said, "Somak sent me."

The slot slammed shut, and the door opened. Inside was the snazziest joint she had ever seen. Crystal and obsidian chandeliers streamed from the ceiling, their beads reflecting the soft lighting into rainbow dots all over the place. The chairs were covered with gray velvet, and the tables matched the dark stone beads in the chandeliers. Gaming tables were interspersed with dining tables. She held her breath. She _never_ gambled. Aside from being against the law, it was the surest way to become a pauper. She would steer clear of those tables.

Everyone there was dressed in their finest. The mail lady felt out of place. An establishment such as this was too rich for her blood. But then she remembered that she was decked out as well as anyone else there.

"You look lovely," DeSeve whispered in her ear. "C'mon, I'll introduce you to my friends." He led her over to the bar and ordered a couple of drinks.

Before he could do so, a group of thugs busted down the door and began to fire their weapons in the air. "This is a raid," said their leader. "Give us all your dough."

"Oh, no!" the mail lady cried.

"Don't worry," DeSeve assured her, "It's going to be okay." He moved her behind him.

The looters passed a sack around the room, and people reluctantly parted with their treasures. The mail lady's heart sank. Just when things were starting to look up for her, _this_ had to happen! So much for her dreams.

But all of a sudden, one of the women snatched the leaders gun and held it to his head. "Drop your disruptors!" she ordered the others.

"What are you doing here, Mickey?" she demanded, "You're supposed to be watching the kids!"

"What are _you_ doing here? Ya tramp!"

"Hey, can you people take this outside?" asked the bartender, "I just replaced the furniture this week."

The angry housewife led the miscreants out the back door. Soon after, weapons fire was heard. She waltzed back in, dusting off her hands. "That takes care of that."

The mail lady was aghast. "It's okay," said DeSeve, "That kind of thing happens all the time here. Usually, it's the Tal Shiar collecting their look-away bribe. Let me introduce you to my friends now."

It was the most magical night she had ever had, as though it had come right out of her dreams. She and DeSeve went to the speakeasy nearly every night after that. Things had certainly changed for our heroine. Never again would she live the life of the soup Cinderella. The only event wanting was a proposal, which DeSeve offered once he had hope enough for success. By that point, she was so charmed by him that she accepted, and they were wed on the shores of the Apnex Sea.

She found that marriage to a human was far more exciting than being stuck with a sack of potatoes whose only concern was when she was going to feed him. With DeSeve, she never had to cook again, because either he cooked for her, or he took her out to classy restaurants. Never did he fail to show her a good time, and make her feel appreciated in the process.

The rumor of M'Ret's supposed condition flew around Rateg, then around Romulus and beyond. Eventually, it spread to the Federation. It came to the ears of a certain Vulcan captain, who braved the dangers of coming to Romulus to visit his father. Oddly enough, they chose to meet in the speakeasy, where the mail lady learned his identity—Captain Solok. But that, dear readers, is another story.


End file.
